


Can't Wait Too Long

by candypinksocks



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candypinksocks/pseuds/candypinksocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breckin hasn't let Mark-Paul him touch him yet. He's resting, ass on his heels, hands in fists on his thighs and his head bent. He can see the sand drying on Breckin's toes and a thin stream of sea water trickling down the outside of Breckin's calf from the bottom of his board shorts to darken the dried sand on his ankle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Wait Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> For the F&B kink meme prompt _I will pledge my undying love (and possibly my first-born) to anyone who writes something that stems from_[ beach pictures](http://franklin-bash.livejournal.com/90215.html?view=1064551#t1064551). _Anything. I honestly don't care what it involves, but we have photographic evidence of the pair of them wearing tight wetsuits and very little else, so there has to be something in that, right?!_
> 
> Set in the same 'verse as [Nobody's Fault But Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/444075) \- only with about 35% less plot.
> 
> To continue a theme - title taken from The Beach Boys' song of the same name.
> 
> Thanks to Vic for being her usual awesome.

Breckin hasn't let Mark-Paul him touch him yet. He's resting, ass on his heels, hands in fists on his thighs and his head bent. He can see the sand drying on Breckin's toes and a thin stream of sea water trickling down the outside of Breckin's calf from the bottom of his board shorts to darken the dried sand on his ankle.

It's quiet. Too quiet.

Breckin hasn't touched him yet either and it's driving him a little bit crazy.

"B - " He sounds wrecked already and it's only been a couple of minutes since they called cut and lunch, and Breckin grabbed his hand and practically kicked the door to his trailer down trying to get them inside.

"In a minute." Breckin doesn't sound any more in control; his voice shaky and too quiet. Everything's too quiet. "Just give me a minute."

Mark-Paul lets out a breath and nods, uncurls his fingers to lay his palms flat on his thighs, tries not to leave marks on his skin when he digs his nails in a little too hard.

"'K."

He shuts his eyes and _feels_ Breckin walk around him; he's too light on his feet to really hear, he just feels the air move around him, the ghost of a promise he almost leans into until he remembers that's not allowed. He lets out another breath, draws the next one in through his nose as slow as he can and lets his shoulders sag. They've got an hour, maybe longer if anyone was paying attention to the way Breckin was looking at him. He really fucking hopes no one was paying _that_ much attention.

It's been a while. Too long, should anyone (they're not going to) ask and just thinking about it makes Mark-Paul's breath catch again, gets his belly curling in a tight knot.

That first touch is gentle, soft over the back of his neck, fingers curling in the damp hair right there.

"Open your mouth." It's barely a whisper against his ear, but he jumps anyway, goose bumps chasing down his arms and he's suddenly cold. 

There's a press to his bottom lip and Breckin's thumb dragging it down and pushing inside. Mark-Paul can taste the sea and the stupid make up they have to wear to make them look like they're not under million watt lights and he can't stop the noise he makes then, he's not even going to try. Breckin's standing between his knees now and Mark-Paul wants to look up, open his eyes and see but he doesn't. Breckin hasn't told him he can yet and he doesn't want to disappoint, can't spoil the game, even though that's all it is. 

He feels the wet smear of Breckin's thumb on his jaw and the hand in his hair tighten seconds before his head's pulled back and Breckin's kissing him like he'll die if he doesn't, like they've got the whole day and not an hour, like Mark-Paul is the center of everything. 

"If only we had time…" Breckin's smiling against his lips and pulling away too soon only to push at Mark-Paul's knees with his ankles and get his own knees pressed to Mark-Paul's chest. "You and fucking water should be illegal man." 

"You and fucking PX-90 should be illegal." Mark-Paul chances opening his eyes, just a little, just to see and that gets him a too-hard tug on his hair that makes his scalp tingle.

"Don't cheat." Breckin bends down to kiss him again, a barely-there brush of lips before Breckin's out of his space again and letting go.

Shit.

The air shifts around him again. He keeps his eyes screwed shut and his hands to himself, wills his breathing down several notches and mostly fails, just like he always does when they do this. They both suck at control, no matter how many times they get into this, switching it up and back again. Neither of them has control worth shit when the other one's calling the shots. Hell, neither of them has control worth shit period. But he can try, just like Breckin always does.

"Open your mouth." This time Breckin's a little more in control, his voice hard and his breathing steady. He's still too far away. "And keep your eyes shut."

Mark-Paul nods, tips his head back a little and lets his mouth fall wide. He knows Breckin's looking at him, just the same as he knows if it was the other way round he wouldn't take his eyes off Breckin for a second. He gets a little rush of something in his gut at that, can't help but smile a little. It's crooked and a little stupid looking what with his mouth hanging open and all, but he doesn't care.

There's a soft sound off to his right, feet on carpet and then his jaw's being cupped, thumbs brushing down over his throat and fingers pressing behind his ears.

"Wanted to do this all day." 

Mark-Paul's not even a little bit ashamed of the noise he makes, of the way he sways a tiny bit, of how his fingers dig into his thighs again.

"Touch me." Breckin's thumbs press against Mark-Paul's Adam's apple for a second and then they're gone, nails scratching under his jaw, fingers carding up through his hair and then he's pulled forward 'til his nose bumps against Breckin's belly and hair tickles his chin.

That first taste makes Mark-Paul groan, salt and sweat and it's all he can do not to reach up to grab Breckin's ass, drag him closer and swallow him down. But he's not going to get what he wants if he does that. Instead he drops his shoulders forward, rests his hands on the backs of Breckin's knees and licks a long wet stripe from the top of Breckin's shorts to his navel.

"Motherfucker!" Breckin's knees buckle, press to Mark-Paul's chest almost enough to knock him right back.

"You said touch, didn't say how." He gets a sharp tug on his hair for that, head pulled back again, Breckin's free hand loose around his throat.

"Should make you wait." He's not going to make Mark-Paul wait. And it's nothing to do with what little time they have left running out and everything to do with how much Breckin wants this as much as he does. They might be playing a game but they don't play games. "Now do it right."

Mark-Paul runs his hand up under Breckin's shorts, hot over cold skin, goes to yank the shorts down too fast to make it even a little be sexy, but bites at Breckin's hip to make up for it. They get stuck on Breckin's damp skin and it's three good tugs before they end up in a puddle at Breckin's feet.

There's nothing on this earth that would keep Mark-Paul from looking now. Not one single thing.

He leans back a little, just enough to _see_ and later, when they have time and he's got Breckin spread out and wanting, he'll take his time. But right now he just wants to get fucked. 

Mark-Paul breathes a kiss just under Breckin's ribs where it's still a little soft, scrapes his teeth and sucks, mindful of marks and pissed off make up guys, imagines losing himself for hours learning all those perfect places again.

"I hate you - " Breckin's got his hand on his own dick now, thumb pressing down as he yanks Mark-Paul's head back hard enough to make his eyes water. "Now hold fucking _still_."

And there's that noise again, the low choked-out whine that Mark-Paul knows drives Breckin nuts, makes him pull on Mark-Paul's hair harder, gets him cursing and wanting and so fucking impatient. And Mark-Paul just goes with it, digs his fingernails into that soft skin behind Breckin's knees and lets his jaw go slack.

"Oh - " Breckin's voice is quiet, his fingers twisting in Mark-Paul's hair as he smiles down, rocks his hips forward just right, just enough.

"Come on, fuck me." 

His tongue darts out, a tease is all and then Breckin's pushing inside, so fucking slowly until Mark-Paul can't breathe, 'til his nose is pressed to Breckin's belly and his heart is pounding in his ears.

"Oh _fuck_!" Breckin snaps his hips back, pulls all the way out just to push back inside, slow like before. Deep and perfect and Mark-Paul's eyes are watering, his jaw aching already and he really wants to get a hand on himself, shove his shorts down and fuck into his fist. He scratches at the backs of Breckin's knees instead, sucks in a quick breath through his nose before Breckin cuts off his air again.

Breckin's got his tells and Mark-Paul knows every damn one of them; the noises he makes when he's barely holding on, when he's not going to last, when it's gonna be quick and dirty and Mark-Paul fucking loves it, sucks hard when Breckin pulls back again, lets his teeth catch just a tiny bit, flicks his tongue and takes Breckin down again, fucking swallows.

He's playing dirty and knows Breckin knows he is and doesn't care. He takes it all, groans deep in his throat as Breckin's hips stutter, his hands on Mark-Paul's shoulders now, like if he lets go his knees'll crumple and fucking loving it doesn't even come close to how this feels, how close he is to losing it himself.

"At me - fuck - fucking look at me." Just as Breckin pulls back and away and gets his hand on his dick, strips back hard and fast, his eyes never leaving Mark-Paul's even for a second.

There's no saving Mark-Paul's makeup.

Breckin drops to his knees hard enough to make Mark-Paul wince, kisses Mark-Paul hard and dirty, feeding the mess on his chin back into his mouth with a filthy groan, smearing his cheeks with shaking fingers and laughing as he pushes Mark-Paul back and back 'til his legs twist out from under him and all of Breckin's weight is holding him down.

"You cheated." Breckin squeezes Mark-Paul's hip, pinches at the little strip of skin just above the waist band of his shorts. "Should make you wait."

He's not going to make Mark-Paul wait, they both know that, but it doesn't stop the stupid whine or the way Mark-Paul's hips roll up. "Don't -" He bites at Breckin's lip, sucks on Breckin's tongue as he hooks his feet up to rest on Breckin's ass. "Come on."

He's got his own tells too.

Breckin gets a hand between them and wrapped around him and Mark-Paul's pushing up and holding on and kissing Breckin in between useless breaths. 

"Give it to me." And it's stupid how Breckin can still do that to him, no matter how many times they do this. Stupid in that fucking awesome way that makes his belly tie up in knots and his back arch and come all over himself like a fucking teenager.

He's got rug burn on his back, his shorts are ruined and he can't really feel his left leg past his knee.

He feels fucking fantastic.

"Get off me." He half pushes at Breckin's shoulder, not really wanting him to move.

"Sleepy."

"I think you'll find that's sticky."

"Urgh, okay, asshole." Breckin rolls off with a grunt, gets up on wobbly legs and Mark-Paul wants nothing more than to drag his ass back down again, see if they can't get another round in before they get called back on set. "Nope, not gonna happen." 

He wonders sometimes if he should even bother with words. He could just look at Breckin and Breckin'd know exactly what he was thinking. Or maybe he's just got a really obvious sex face. 

"Got time for a shower though."

Breckin kicks at Mark-Paul's leg and turns on his heel without so much as a look behind him.

And of course Mark-Paul gets up and follows because it's not just a Bash thing.

\end

**Author's Note:**

> For Vic and Jen.


End file.
